


Step One: Seduction

by pinkpop



Series: A Guide to Honeytrapping: The Art of Screwing the Bad Guy [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Casual Sex, F/M, Sexpionage, Smut, seducing the enemy for the greater good is hot and you cant convince me otherwise, sexy spies doing sexy spy stuff, slightly rough sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24839848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkpop/pseuds/pinkpop
Summary: Reader has one job on her to-list tonight: seduce Handsome Jack. Turns out it's shockingly easy.
Relationships: Handsome Jack (Borderlands) & Reader
Series: A Guide to Honeytrapping: The Art of Screwing the Bad Guy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796794
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	Step One: Seduction

You’d bought the red lace thong from a quick-change station in Sanctuary. Moxxi had recommended red. _“It’s his favourite,”_ she’d told you as she gestured to her own ruby red outfit. _“It’ll warm him up a little.”_  
You didn’t really plan on signing up for this job, per se. It just kind of fell into your lap. But you also didn’t hate the idea of seducing Handsome Jack. if anything, you were excited. If all went as planned (and if hearsay is anything to go by) then it’d be a win for the both of you. He’d get his required fill of young vixen for the day and you’d get to have your way with the notoriously handsome and apparently kinky-as-all-hell CEO in the cushy comfort of his mansion-sized office. Plus, you’d get the information you needed for the Crimson Raiders, too. That is also important, of course.  
Anyway. _Sparrows._  
That’s what ancient people used to call them. Or _Swallows,_ but let’s be honest; that sounds a lot more disgusting when you think about it. Sparrows were young women (and men; we're all about equality, here) who were trained in the art of seducing men in order to kill them or gain information. So they were spies, but with more BDSM. They went to school for it and everything. Prom must have been rampant. I bet the dance hall smelled like a fishmonger’s on a hot day.  
The problem you faced was this: Lilith needed information that only Handsome Jack knew. Codes for a door that stood between her and the very large stash of next-level weaponry that Jack was hoarding that could break the Raiders down to puddles of DNA. Not Good. But Jack doesn’t like Lilith, and for all intents and purposes, Lilith is lazy as all hell. Jack won’t give Lilith the information, so they needed someone else to get it. Someone that Jack doesn’t know yet.  
The solution to this almighty problem is pretty simple if you haven’t guessed it already.  
Fuck him.  
Fuck him so good that his brain turns to mush and he forgets how to tie his own shoelaces. Wiggle on into his good books, make him feel like you're a harmless bit of fun. Then, hopefully, he’ll give you the codes. And that’s how you ended up here, stood on the other side of Jack’s desk, while he sits in his huge yellow chair with his head down, looking at some scattered papers with mild irritation. He’s wearing reading glasses; a definite bonus to the Sex-appeal Scoreboard. He looks almost normal in this toned-down setting, save for the fact he has a face stapled to his other face, of course. That's a dead giveaway that something is definitely Wrong with this dude. Captial W.  
You stand with your hand on your jutted out hip, weight on one high-heeled foot. The dress that Moxxi made for you is satin and clings to your skin with static, but that does you nothing but a whole lot of favours in this situation. Almost every inch of you is mapped out under this black silky fabric and if Jack is anything like you hear he is, that’s definitely not gonna go unnoticed.  
The all-important red lace thong is hidden under the dress, but you know it’s there. Wearing it is like having a dirty secret. It sends a thrill up your spine to think about the look on Jack’s face when you reveal it. But for now, you have to play it cool. Rule number one, according to the resident sexpert, Moxxi, is to take it slow, Build up to it. Make them…  
_wait._  
You may not have had a fully-fledged Sparrow School to attend, with a prom that played out like a scene out of the Great Gatsby and a teen pregnancy rate through the roof, but with a little help from Moxxi and the assets the Gods had given you, you’ll do just fine. I mean, you _do_ look fabulous, I must say.  
And you plan on having fun.  
“I’m sorry,” Jack says casually, not bothering to look up at you. “Is there a reason you’re filling my office with the smell of mid-range perfume and cigarillos? And how the hell did you get in -”  
He looks up at you, his eyes scanning you from thighs to head to thighs again. Angry pointed eyebrows rise in pleasant surprise and I can tell you that’s not the only thing that’s rising. A slow smirk blossoms across his face and he leans back in his chair lazily, legs sprawled out under the desk in front of him. He clicks the end of his ballpoint pen a few times as he swivels back and forth in the chair.  
“Well, well, well,” he says through an oil slick grin. “Is it my birthday or does my PA just love me?” Somehow he manages to play the slimy pervert and still makes it irresistibly charming and goddamn sexy. If you weren’t having so much fun with the thought of all the ways in which you could occupy that mouth of his, then you’d probably be annoyed by how easily he switches on the charm. And how difficult it is for you to resist falling for it. But this is your game and you won't let yourself be played.  
“I don’t think we’ve met,” you smile, holding out your hand for him to take.  
Jack lifts an eyebrow just a fraction and rises to his feet, moving around the desk to join you in a few long strides. With expert charm, he takes your hand in his and lifts it high above your head, pulling you into a twirl and getting an eye full of you. You can’t help but feel satisfaction as he watches you spin, taking in the sight of you from front to back to sides.  
“I’d definitely remember you, sweetheart,” he purrs.  
And just like that, you’ve nabbed him. If you’d known the handsome bastard would be this easy to fool into bed, then you wouldn’t have spent money on the damn thong. It’s kinda itchy and you think you might have lost it up there for good at this point. The whole process would have been a lot quicker and less of a bother if you’d just shown up in a trenchcoat. But the show must go on and as he looks you up and down, you won’t deny yourself the thrill.  
“Oh, you definitely would,” you tell him. “I have a lasting effect on men.”  
“I can imagine,” he says. He leans in and you can smell the limb-tingling scent of his cologne. It probably cost more money than you’ll ever see in all your years of life combined, but good god is it worth it. He smells like he just dropped in from heaven. You’d pay an arm and a leg for a man who wears a smell like that and you’re mid-way through wondering if it would be inappropriate to marry Handsome Jack under the guise of saving the planet when he speaks and derails your train of thought entirely.  
“What's your game here, huh?” he asks, leaning in close. He’s still smiling, slick and smarmy, but there’s something threatening behind his tone. “Because I know I didn’t send for you and I know it’s not my birthday and I know my PA is too friggin’ useless to ever come up with the idea of sendin' a long-legged Bond Girl up to me without being told to. So how did you get in here, cupcake?”  
You feel a twinge of nervousness all of a sudden, but you like it. There’s a fine point to his words, like his tongue is a blade. All quick wit and sinister charisma. The edge of the blade is sharp and gleaming, but damn if it doesn’t make him all the more attractive. You were born on Pandora, after all. Let’s be honest; your people aren’t known for their healthy pastimes. A little violence mixed in with your shot of romance is one sure-fire way to get you drunk.  
With the funny tingling feeling in your stomach rising, you look up at him through your sweeping eyelashes, turning the prettiness to full throttle. “I broke in,” you tell him. “I snuck past the first set of guards and tricked the second set into thinking I was supposed to be here. They let me through just fine once I’d told them about the very important dinner date the two of us have tonight.” Jack circles you as you talk, hands joined behind his back as he looks you up and down with his bottom lip held between his teeth. “The third set of guards were smarter, though. They figured me for a thief. So I killed 'em.”  
Jack looks up at you, then, stunned ever-so-slightly by the knowledge that he now has two extra bodies to dump with tonight’s daily body disposal. He’s surprised or impressed. Or maybe even a little bit pissed. All of those emotions look just as good on him though, so you don’t much mind which one he's feeling. Although anger would make for a much more exciting night between the sheets, for sure.  
“Sorry about that,” you shrug, cooly.  
Jack stops in front of you and you let him see the little crook in your smile as you smirk.  
“Why?” he asks. “Why are you here? I hope you didn't actually go through all that trouble to steal my stuff. Because I’m sorry, sweetheart, but if you plan on putting your fingers on anything in this room then I’ll cut ‘em off and feed them to your grandma.”  
You wet your lips. “That’d be a shame,” you say. “My fingers are my favourite part of me.”  
Jack tilts his head back. He walked right into that one and he knows it. His threats and his frown have both been blown away by the promise of fingers and black satin and curves that just don’t quit. He looks at you with a small smile, amusement on his that handsome mug of his. And when you raise a finger to your lips and gently pop it into your mouth, he chuckles.  
“Oh,” he says. “You’re gonna play it like that?”  
You nod, puckering your lips around your finger and leaving red lipstick at the base.  
“Well, if that’s how it’s gonna be,” he says, surging against you and lifting you up onto his desk. He grins wickedly. “Then I guess it’s gonna be a long night for the both of us, babe.”  
You resist the urge to squeal as he wraps his arms around your waist and sucks you in tight. Instead of devolving into the hormone-filled school girl that you feel like, you place on hand at his neck to steady yourself as you swerve his attempt at a kiss. He doesn’t look half as disgruntled by your rejection as you’d imagine he would. In fact, he kinda seems like he likes it.  
You press your finger to his lips and he watches you through half-lidded eyes. “You should know that I’m not a girl to be messed with, Mr CEO,” you drawl, fluttering those eyelashes for extra emphasis. “If you think you can have your way with me and have me killed for breaking and entering afterwards, then you better think up a new plan real quick. I have a nasty bite.”  
Jack looks sleepy, like he’s in a drug-fueled daydream (he probably is, to be fair), nodding along in his trance with a lustful smile on his face. He’s wolfish, persistent. He moves in for another attempt at a kiss. “Wouldn’t dream of it, babe,” he says, lips brushing against yours.  
You let his kiss land this time, opening your mouth to his. His lips are the kind of soft that comes with all the regular pampering sessions that money can buy, but you’re a little too distracted by his hands to think too much about what kind of lip scrub this guy uses. His fingers flirt with the tie at the back of your dress - the one that keeps the dress _on_ your body - and a shiver runs through you when his fingers brush the skin between your shoulder blades as he goes about untying the silk tie. You jolt forward, pressed further against him and letting a squeal slip.  
Jack pulls back to look at you, a wide smirk on his face that he doesn’t even try to hide.  
You clasp a hand to your mouth. “I’m ticklish,” you tell him, squeezing your eyes shut and stifling your laugh.  
He pulls your hand from your mouth and speaks quietly, dripping the words into your ear like honey. “Good to know.”  
He kisses you again, just a soft, gentle peck that you’re sure he learned from some gossip magazine he studied in order to impress the ladies because there is no way this man is that soft with his casual partners given all of his other personality traits. The horrible thought occurs that maybe he’s conning you just as well as you’re conning him. That he’s playing you like a fiddle with his expert fingers, long and slightly rough and warm against your skin and…  
Wow, I’m sorry, what was I saying again?  
Ah, yes. My bad. Moving on.  
Jack pulls back, tugging you away from the desk by your hands and leaving you standing in the circle of his arms while he unties the rest of the silk ribbon at your back. And with a movement so elegant and dainty that it might as well have been captured on photograph for a fashion ‘zine, your black satin dress floats to the floor around your ankles, leaving you and your red lace thong to face the music.  
You smile devilishly at him and he eyes the lace and grins. You step out of the dress, leaving it in a heap on the floor, your heels clicking against the metal panelling underfoot. Taking Jack’s hand, you take him over to the sofa at the edge of the room, leather bound and beaten. You wouldn’t want to imagine the kinds of stains this bad boy would show under UV light, but you suppose a few more won’t hurt.  
Jack sits down first and he stretches his legs out on either side of you, reclining and resting his arms on the back of the sofa as you wiggle that red lace down over your hips.  
Pushing it down past your thighs and letting it drop to the floor is definitely one of the best things about that thong, for sure. And the look on Jack’s face as those mismatched angel eyes dip below your belt makes you all warm and fuzzy in all of the right places.  
He tells you to turn around, to give him a better look, and you take the opportunity to look over his bookshelves for anywhere one might keep secret codes for secret weapons stashes. You don’t get much time to look before Jack’s leaning forward and spinning you back around by the hips to face him again. With a menacing laugh, he yanks you down onto his lap and it’s all a mess of open-mouthed neck kisses and grunts and soft, well-timed moans from there on out. His hand roams the inside of your thigh, his lips at the skin of your shoulder. You twist and squirm until you’re straddling him and you pin his wrists to the back of the sofa, letting yourself take a moment to bathe in the satisfaction that comes from him pitching a tent between your legs.  
Everything moves quickly and the office is deathly silent save for the heavy gasps and lascivious, breathless laughter. Soon enough, his belt is unbuckled, his shirt yanked open and missing a couple of buttons, and you’re riding him on the sofa like your life depends on it. His hands are roaming the curve at the small of your back, touching gently enough to make you think this is another one of those subtle soft things he does to win girls over. Most things about him are tailored; from his suit to his words to his actions. All designed to make him seem more appealing, more perfect.  
You’re kissing him, gripping fistfuls of his hair and pulling tight, drawing grunted laughter from him that makes your ribs sing like windchimes. He snarls, becomes rougher. _Good._ You don’t want him to be soft. You don’t want the fake Jack, the calculated Jack. You want rough and messy until you’re deep into oblivion, pounded into the base of this sofa with no sense left. You wanna know what makes him tick. What gets the girls talking. You want your dose of fun.  
Already desperate, you’re grinding hard. He pulls away from the kiss and closes his hand around your throat. You can see it in his eyes; the tiny urge niggling at the back of his mind, telling him how easy it would be to break your windpipe. There’s a sparkle that people get when they lust for violence. It’s only tiny, but it’s there, right in the corner. You’ve heard the stories about Jack and his affinity for strangling people. His watch chain and his hands themselves are both the subject of some unsavoury rumours, apparently guilty of stealing the breath from many a poor bastard. Of course, that’s one of the reasons you were excited to be here.  
His grip tightens and he’s staring you in the eye, a wicked grin on his face as he watches you, but he’s holding back. He doesn’t want to hurt you, not really. There’s a time and a place for murder and that’s not the kind of mood he’s in, apparently. Your palms rest on his chest, freshly painted fingernails digging into his flesh and leaving tiny scratches with pinpricks of blood forming along them. Your head swims with the lack of blood flow and you feel like you’re riding on cloud nine, heading straight for the damn promised land. This can’t possibly be real life; it feels too damn good. The office lights overhead burst into blooms of colour, your vision clouding with a kaleidoscope of patterns as your mind teeters on the edge of the void.  
_Don’t pass out. The plan’ll be a bust if you pass out._  
The feeling is dizzying, a gentle buzz in all of your limbs, skin that feels like it’s crawling and rippling. This is what you expected. This is what you’d hoped for. Mind-blowing sex on your otherwise dull Tuesday evening.  
Jack reaches up his other hand and puts his two fingers in your mouth, holding your tongue down flat as your eyes roll back and flutter. He lets go of your throat, pulls you down to within an inch of his face. The fingers come away from your mouth and curl around the nape of your neck, the wetness feeling cool against your flushed skin. You’re only a hairbreadth away from him, still grinding and breathing in fits of little gasps. He nips at your jaw, then bites down just hard enough to leave a bruise, but light enough to avoid any permanent damage.  
You arch your back, throwing your head backwards, and Jack grips your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, forcing you to look at him again. “You break into my home and kill my guards on your way in, the least you could do is look me in the eye, buttercup,” he grins.  
With an admittedly weak and shaky grip, you grab at his wrist, your hips rocking back and forth in jerky movements that are hindered further by tiredness. Your thighs ache and there’s a thin film of sweat over the two of you that makes your skin glisten under the lights overhead. You swallow, throat dry, and whimper something nonsensical that probably makes a lot of sense to you in the moment, but sounds like gobbledygook to Jack. His grin shines brighter at the sight of you devolving into breathless muttering. Ever the sadist, this one. Watching people unravel in the palm of his hand is evidently the kind of power trip he craves.  
The wave of dizziness is felt right from the tip of your toes, all the way through your gut and up to your head. You hang your head, exhausted and spent, eyes rolling back, and Jack picks you up and flips you over, laying you down on the sofa and kneeling between your trembling legs. He hovers over you, lowering himself down to nip your collarbone, kissing away the salt from your skin.  
In your ebbing state of oblivion, you’re already thinking up ways in which to blag your way into coming back here for round two. Of course, you were always going to need more than one night in order to charm the codes out of Jack’s clutches, but _my my,_ what an incentive you have now. You look up at him, your vision blurred at the edges by lightheadedness. His usually perfect sweeping hair dangles in front of his face; that grey streak hanging in beautifully ruffled and slightly sweaty waves above your face. He swipes his thumb over your lower lip, slides it into your mouth. You close your lips around it and his eyes sparkle.  
It’s not long until his breath quickens, ragged sighs spilling from torn-up lungs, grunts from a dry throat. He mumbles something about pulling out, but that idea doesn’t sound nearly as much fun as the alternative. You raise your hand to his face, tilt his chin up with your finger and make him look at you. “Don’t you dare,” you warn, lips curled into a smirk.  
He dips down for a kiss.  
Pushes deep.  
Grips at your thigh tightly, leaving red marks on your skin.  
The moan he spills sounds like music to your ears, melodic and sweet. His arms to weakened to hold him up any longer, he almost collapses onto you. He rests his sweat-slicked forehead against your bare chest, heaving heavy sighs that brush against the skin at your breastbone. It tickles and your thighs are burning, but you’re too tired, too blissful, to react to any of the five thousand sensations your body is feeling right now. So you just lay there for a few moments with Handsome Jack on top of you, staring at the ceiling of his office with the most shit-eatingly smug smile on your face.  
You comb Jack’s hair back with one hand, the locks soft and warm between your fingers. He pushes up onto his knees and pulls away, kneeling over you and fastening his jeans up with a grin about as wide as his the gap between his income and expenditures. You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching him buckle his belt.  
“You never told me why you broke into my office,” he says.  
You chuckle. “I know, I'm a mystery, aren't I?”  
Jack climbs off the sofa and offers you a hand, pulling you up and fixing his shirt while you head for your abandoned satin dress, ducking for that damn thong on the way. Some of his shirt buttons are still laying on the floor from where they’d pinged off in the commotion, so there’s still a few gaping holes when he buttons the shirt up again, the skin of his stomach peeking through. You pad your way over the metal floor of his office on bare feet and slip back into your dress like what just happened is no big deal. It isn’t, really; not to you. It's all just a game. Your shoes are handed to you by Jack when he rejoins you next to his desk, gifted alongside a twinkling pearly-white smile that definitely came from a dentist rather than genetics.  
“I’m gonna go ahead and assume I'll be seeing you again real soon,” Jack says. “No surprise there, with my performance being so top-notch.”  
You smile, fixing the pins in your hair. “I’ll see where the mood takes me,” you say.  
“Next time you wanna be screwed into the soft furnishings by yours truly, do me a favour and let me know ahead of time so I can avoid having to send the corpses of two of my guards down the garbage chute with my leftovers.”  
You slide your shoes onto your feet and Jack leans perched against the desk.  
“Duly noted, Your Highness. I’ll be sure to send word in advance,” you promise. “So long as you promise to have champagne waiting for me.”  
“The best bottle money can buy,” he agrees, folding his arms across his broad chest.  
You think about giving him a peck on the cheek, a lasting gift to leave him with. But instead, you opt for cool and collected, just as Moxxi had taught you, blowing him a lazy kiss and sauntering towards the door, hips swaying as you go. You can feel him watching you as you walk away, feel the satisfaction creeping up inside you, threatening to bust your ribs open. The power trip that comes with knowing you have Handsome Jack eating out of the palm of your hand is a wonderful feeling. Knowing that you can hold his attention with nothing more than the body you were born with. That he wants you, had to have you.  
You don’t think that feeling’s gonna get old any time soon.


End file.
